KAEL
The lounge smelled like old money, fine scotch, and desperation.
I didn't mind two out of the three.
I sat alone on a velvet armchair, leg crossed over knee, pen between my fingers, and a stack of blood-thick contracts in front of me. They weren't just business agreements, they were the bones of empires, the veins of future wars, the key to owning silence in places where chaos once ruled.
Across from me, the man was sweating.
He used to be untouchable. The kind of man who made women lower their eyes and men trip over themselves for a seat at his table. But now?
Just another rotting carcass trying to rebrand.
His voice trembled as he spoke, all flowery promises and empty forecasts. I didn't even look up. I just flipped another page. Scrawled another note. Signed another name that didn't belong to me.
A quiet knock.
One of my men entered the room and approached, slipping a thin envelope into my hand.
"From Niko, sir," he said.
My pen paused.
